With Love From Scotland
by Diaphanous
Summary: Stranded in the village of Inverness, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad was alone caring for his two sons. His youngest was suffering from infant colic and his eldest was hungry. Enter Healer Harry James Potter, with his 'son' Theodore, who offers him a home and love.


**With Love From Scotland**

_Disclaimer_: I don't own anything.

_WARNINGS: A touch of OOC; slash ahoy! AU!_

000/000

Snuffling cries filled his ears. The distressed noises made him wince and grimace. The babe in his arms struggled and flailed, its face scrunched up and red. Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad was in over his head. His lover, Maria, had died from a fever and he was left with his two young sons and stranded in the middle of Inverness with no place to turn to with Masyaf so far away. He had sent a missive to Malik, his brother and friend, but he knew that it would take weeks, maybe months, until it would arrive in the Holy Land. Even then, any return letter or aid would take just as long. The displaced Syrian looked down at his four-year-old son who was clinging to his robes by his hips. The child was staring up at him with wide cinnamon brown eyes and sucking on his fist. His own eyes darted around the alley that they were hiding in and then he bent down a little, bouncing the baby in his arms.

"Alerio, you mustn't chew on your hand," Altaïr said softly. He shifted his youngest son, Haytham, onto one arm while he reached down to gently pry away his eldest son's hand from his mouth.

"Hungry," Alerio muttered once his appendage was removed.

However before Altaïr could address the issue, his head jerked up when he heard hurried footsteps coming their way. His golden eyes widened when he saw a young child, a boy who looked to be about eight summers, running full tilt toward them. He scowled furiously when he saw several grown men chasing the boy with raised sticks and angry faces. The assassin then stepped away from the alley wall, snagged the boy, and placed the clearly frightened child behind him. The thugs skidded to a halt, panting and glaring.

"Hand the boy over!" one of the men snarled, apparently he was the leader of the trio.

Altaïr raised an eyebrow and handed his youngest to the eight-year-old behind him. "Hold my son while I take care of this," he quietly reassured the boy in English. He then gestured for Alerio to step back by the strange boy.

"Yes, sir," the boy answered in awe as he took the babe with gentle hands and watched as his rescuer drew his sword.

"I'm warning you!" the leader stuttered out. "Just hand the little monster over and we don't have to fight!"

"Be gone lest I teach you a lesson on harming those who are helpless," the assassin replied haughtily. The steel of his blade gleamed in the weak autumn sunlight. He gestured with his sword. "Unless, of course, you wish to taste my blade?" His eyes shone bright gold from beneath his white hood. He snorted and relaxed when the bullies scrambled away. Sheathing his sword, he turned to take back Haytham and looked down at the boy he had rescued. "Who were they to be chasing you?"

The boy, a young brunet with amber eyes, shrugged. "Just some superstitious locals. They fear my father," he said. "He's a healer but they whisper that he is a witch. But no-one dares try to burn him at the stake since he's the only healer for leagues around." He frowned. "Thank you for rescuing me."

"It was nothing. But where is your father?" Altaïr could notice the minute fidgeting the boy was doing. "Ah I see, you left his sight."

Huffing, the boy of eight summers scowled deeper. "Actually we were in the market and I might have... wandered away," he replied sheepishly.

The Syrian shook his head and gestured for the two children to follow him. "Well then, he must be frantic. Come, we'll go to the market," he said as he turned to walk out of the alley.

"Wait!" the boy cried. "I'm not supposed to go with strangers. My father said so."

Alerio pointed at his father. "That Papa!" he said. "He mine, 'kay?" The child stranger giggled a little then looked up at the Syrian with wide amber eyes.

"That's right; these are my sons and I am called Altaïr," the assassin said. "Now come, we mustn't keep your father waiting." He smiled to himself as two boys scuffled up to walk next to him. While cradling Haytham in one arm, he dropped down his free hand to hold Alerio's upstretched one. "And now your name."

"It's Theodore," the boy said shyly. "Thanks again."

"To the market, then."

000/000

Harry James Potter was going to put his wayward godson over his knee to give him a good walloping. Clutching his basket filled with vegetables and a small bag of flour, the temporally displaced wizard frantically scanned the crowds for Teddy. Merlin, if anything happened to Teddy he would rain doom down upon all of Inverness and personally gut the ones who hurt him with a spoon. He muttered a few choice words in Frankish, English, and then in the native Scottish Gaelic.

"Father!" Teddy's familiar voice called out from behind him.

The wizard whirled around and his bright green eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his godson being led into the market by a white hooded stranger with two other children. One child looked to be half Teddy's age and was holding hands with the man who was holding a baby, the second child. "Theodore Lupin-Potter! Where have you been?" Harry demanded once the odd group came close enough. He turned toward the stranger. "I'm so sorry if he's been any trouble, sir. He just wandered off and I've been looking for him everywhere in the market."

"He saved me!" Teddy interjected. He seemed to droop under his godfather's glare. "Umm... that is to say..."

"There were men trying to hurt him," the stranger said softly, shifting the fussy babe in his arms. "I was just simply in the right place at the right time."

Harry nodded. "Thank you so much then, for helping Teddy. Did you thank him, Teddy?" he demanded of the boy.

"I did!" the young brunet squawked. "I do have some manners."

"Tsk. I would hope so." The older wizard eyed the child in the stranger's arms. "It seems as though you need some help as well, Mister...?"

"Altaïr," the stranger rasped in his lightly accented Middle English. "I... do not know what wrong with him." He sounded frustrated and overwhelmed. "My wife, so to speak, died not so long ago. Your son says that you are a healer. I do not have much money but..."

"No, no payment. You helped my son; it is only right that I help you with yours," Harry replied. "But first we must get to my cottage. It's just outside of Inverness. Anyway, my name is Harry. May I ask your sons' names?" He looked down at the young boy clutching at the stranger's white over-robe.

"My eldest, Alerio," Altaïr replied with a small gestured toward the child clinging to him. "And my youngest is called Haytham."

"Well, it's nice to meet you. Come, this way. I'm done with the shopping." Harry smiled and with his free hand grabbed Teddy's hand to hold.

"My thanks."

000/000

"So how long has he been so fussy?" Harry asked when they entered the small, two bedroom cottage. He led the way to the kitchen and directed Teddy to start putting away his purchases. He helped little Alerio onto a chair at the kitchen table. After that he started up the kitchen fire in the open hearth then left the flame for the moment. The older brunet beckoned the assassin closer and gestured for him to set the babe on the clear table, swaddling and all. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his godson's rescuer throw back his hood from his face. He bit his lip at the handsome features that were revealed and turned back to unwrapping the baby on the table for an examination.

"Several days after he was born and for nearly six months. Maria, his mother, died during that time," Altaïr replied. "I can tell that he is exhausted but he only eats a little before spitting it up and he rarely sleeps."

"I see. And what have you been feeding him?"

"Goats milk since Maria's death. I... traveled here to Inverness but I can travel no further until I receive a reply from my brother in the Holy Land for aid."

Harry looked up from his examination of a hiccupping Haytham. "The Holy Land? But there's still so much fighting there! It could take months," he said. "Do you have somewhere to stay?" he asked.

Altaïr looked chagrined. "No and like I said, my coin is running low." He looked down at Alerio. "And my children are hungry but I fear that I will not be able to provide for them for long on what little I have." He frowned. "I don't even know why I am telling you this."

"You are a worried father," Harry soothed, pressing his cool hand against the baby's red face. "And I am a kindred spirit."

"You have no wife?"

The wizard shook his head. "No wife," he confirmed. "Teddy!"

Young Theodore popped back into the kitchen. "Yes, Father?" he wondered.

"The herb garden; grab some mint, thyme, angelica and anise. I'll grind them up. Ah, wait, before you do that, draw up some water from the well for boiling. Altaïr, could you help him?" Harry asked, looking up at the taller man.

The assassin gave a shallow bow. "Of course. Anything to help my son's recovery," he said before he followed Teddy out the door that led into the herbal garden. Harry watched him go then turned back to the two small children in his kitchen. Alerio was staring up at him with big brown eyes and was sucking on his thumb.

"Alerio, you should not suck your thumb. The worms will crawl into your belly, trust me." Harry resisted the urge to laugh when the little boy gave a startled squeal and desisted his thumb-sucking. "Now then, little one," he addressed the still fussing baby wriggling a little on his kitchen table. Teary eyes the color of the sky blinked up at him. "You've got colic and a severe case of it too." He laid a gentle hand on the flushed chest of Haytham and started to subtly channel his magic to clear up the worse of the colic. "The medicine will do the rest," he murmured when he withdrew his powers. He smiled down at the baby who was slowly winding down from his fit, though whimpers still escaped his cupid bow lips. "Shh, leanbh," he crooned in Irish. "All will be well, aye? Soon you'll be able to sleep and give your papa some rest." He replaced the swaddling, bundling the now shivering child. "Ah, you're done, good." Harry smiled as Teddy and Altaïr reentered the kitchen.

Altaïr held up the filled bucket. "Where do you want it?" he asked. He tried not to jolt in surprise when the other man's fingers brushed against his own when he took the bucket.

"I'll take it," Harry said. "Teddy, set the herbs by my mortar and pestle on the counter. Then get the small cauldron, size seven cast iron, and hang it over the kitchen fire. Yes, that one, thank you." He looked up at the assassin. "If you like, there's some cheese in the pantry. I believe that your eldest had been eyeing the vegetables from earlier. And there's a crust of bread. Go on, feed yourselves while I prepare Haytham's medicine."

"Truly you are kind," Altaïr choked out. "Thank you."

Harry just smiled and stepped away to pour the water into the set up cauldron.

000/000

"It is like yoghurt but... green," Altaïr said when the medicine was done.

Harry chuckled as he spooned more of the medicine into the cheesecloth-lined bowl. "I mixed it with yoghurt," he said cheerfully. "You can mix it further into the goat's milk to feed to Haytham. Would you like me to do so for the first feeding? Since he is six months, he can handle having a piece of bread soaked in the milk to ingest."

"Ah, yes, thank you." The assassin noted that he was thanking the other man a lot during the time that he spent in his company. "I used to have nursing rags to soak the milk in for him to suckle but I had to throw several away over time."

"Makes sense," the wizard said softly. "Sopping milk bread is easier and healthier for the baby I believe. Either way, as long as it makes it to his stomach, your son should feel better soon."

"I am glad. If there is any way for me to repay you, ask."

"Well..." Harry fidgeted a little as he started making the milky bread for Haytham. "Winter is coming soon and you need a place to stay. And from what I can see, you seem quite strong. Winter is a difficult time here in the Highlands. Help me around here and I will provide food and shelter in return. Stay until you receive word at least from your brother."

"Are you sure?" the Syrian asked softly.

"I'm positive." The wizard shook his head. "I can move into Teddy's room and you and your sons can have mine. Isn't that right, son?"

Teddy, who had been sitting with Alerio at the kitchen table entertaining him with stories, looked up and nodded. "That's fine," he chirped. "Then you can protect Father, like you protected me!"

The two men looked at each other and laughed together.

000/000

Harry had been right; the Highland winter was difficult. Soon after the first heavy snowfall they piled up into the main room to sleep before the hearth instead of in the separate bedrooms. The two older children were often cuddled together at night for warmth, their little puppy duet pile closest to the hearth without getting burned. Altaïr and Harry shared a pallet and blankets with baby Haytham nestled between them. They even had to bring the household nanny goat into the cottage to prevent it from dying though it was situated in the smallest bedroom, Teddy's. The wizard never looked forward to cleaning up the goat shit but did it anyway. Thankfully Altaïr had chopped plenty of wood for the cottage and they rarely used the peat blocks for the fire.

Currently the shortest adult was in the first warmest room of the cottage, the kitchen, preparing lunch. Haytham, nearly a year-old now, was strapped to his back in a cloth baby sling. The wizard sighed. Harry hated making cheese but it was essential for survival. The flour and oats were running low and he prayed for winter's end. He knew spring was coming; magic herself whispered of it in his ear. Not that he didn't like waking up to Altaïr's face; in fact he was slowly falling for the man who doted on his sons and on Teddy. Hell, he already loved Alerio and Haytham and sometimes he would hear Teddy whisper to Alerio that he wished that they could be brothers. The language lessons where Altaïr taught all of them Arabic were treasured as something close to family bonding. If only, if only.

"Da Harry!" Alerio barged into the kitchen, the apples of his cheeks flushing prettily with Teddy hot on his heels. "The snow! The snow melting!" he shouted in glee. "Papa finded grass too!" he crowed. Then he bounded back out before the wizard could react to being called 'Da' by Altaïr's eldest child. Haytham, now happy and healthy, cooed from where he was clinging to Harry's back. Teddy gave a quick hug around his godfather's middle then dashed off with a giggle.

Harry blinked back his tears and smiled widely. He set aside the settling cheese, covering the bowl with a cloth. He remembered his wish from when he was a child locked away in a cupboard during the late nineteen eighties to early nineties. A loving family had been his heart's desire for as long as he could remember. Now if only Altaïr returned his feelings...

000/000

Early spring in the Highlands saw the snow melt away. Grass the color of pale emeralds started to grow. The family nanny goat was outside again, eating away at the new growth during the daylight while being put into her shed during the night. The children were asleep, all of them now in the biggest bedroom that had once been Harry's. Apparently the wizard and the assassin had to share the smallest bedroom or just separate where one would sleep in the main room while the other in the bedroom. But for the moment that night they sat on the floor before the main room's hearth facing one another and softly talking.

"Harry, I have a confession to make," Altaïr said softly after a brief lull in their conversation. His golden eyes were steady if a bit nervous. "I am not who you think I am."

"Well, the same goes for me," Harry replied just as quietly. He locked his gaze with the other man. "Do you want me to go first then?"

The Syrian shook his head. "I... there's no gentle way to say this," he started. He sighed and scrubbed at his dark brown hair with his left, four-fingered hand. The bracer that always encased his left forearm gleamed in the firelight. "I'm an assassin from the Holy Land. I've killed Crusaders and Saracens alike."

A heavy silence filled the air and then Harry snorted. "That's not so bad," he said.

"Not so... Are you mad? I'm a killer!"

Harry waved his hand. "Pft! So? That means something to me? Have you tried to kill me or Teddy?" he asked.

"I must always stay my blade from the flesh of the innocent," Altaïr snapped. "I would never try to kill you!"

"Exactly! Like I said, not so bad. What I am is much worse in the eyes of your God and the Christian one," Harry hissed. "I'm... I'm afraid that you'll want to burn me at the stake." He lifted up his right hand and wriggled his fingers. He choked back a guffaw when the assassin flinched back as a thin stick of wood flew into his outstretched hand. A familiar surge filled the younger brunet's body and he sighed. Carefully he set down the long stick between them. "Altaïr, I'm a wizard."

Altaïr engaged in a staring contest with his host. His mouth opened then shut then opened again. "Wizard," he squeaked, though he would deny that he ever made such a sound. "That's not all, is it?"

The confessed magic user shook his head. "Teddy and I come from a different time and he's my godson, not my natural born son," Harry said. He winced at how the assassin floundered with the revelations. "I was born in the year nineteen eighty Anno Domini. Teddy was born seventeen years later. There was a botched ritual that an enemy did. We ended up in Aberdeen in this time then we traveled north to here in Inverness. Gonna scream 'witch' and run out the door with your sons now?"

"No," Altaïr said, surprising the wizard. "No, I don't care if you practice sorcery. You helped me, helped my sons." The Syrian shook his head and reached out with his right hand to cup Harry's cheek. The younger man sighed and leaned into the touch. "There is too much good inside of you. Without you, I would be lost. I don't care that you're a wizard, Harry. And you don't care that I'm an assassin." He chuckled. "What an odd pair we make," he said softly, leaning forward on his knees. "Harry, Harry. Please say that you feel this too. This sin, this beautiful sin that is love between two men." His scarred lips hovered over Harry's mouth.

Harry whimpered and arched his neck. His lips connected with Altaïr's in a soft, chaste kiss. "Altaïr," he breathed reverently. He reached out to grab the front of the assassin's undershirt that he always wore beneath his white assassin's robe. "Love you so much."

Altaïr traced his lips across Harry's cheek and then down so that he could nuzzle the graceful arc of the wizard's bared neck. His right hand still cupped the younger's cheek while his left hand rested on top of Harry's thigh, the leather covered palm a pleasant weight. "Beloved, my heart, my wizard," he purred. Then he began to croon impromptu love poetry in his native tongue against the skin that he was kissing. Altaïr shifted his body even closer as he spoke. The way his tongue rolled around the syllables as he praised his beloved's soft, cream-colored skin and his bright green eyes that put emeralds to shame. His scent of honey and earth and musk. The assassin seduced with his words and his gentle touch. Not even Maria had warranted such loving actions. He had never loved her the way that he loved the English wizard panting with desire. Slowly the hand on Harry's thigh trailed up the muscled surface to grasp the wizard's hip. Altaïr brought his head up, brushing the tip of his nose with the tip of Harry's. Their eyes locked and their lips were nearly touching.

"Altaïr, Altaïr," Harry chanted. "Oh please." He moaned as another kiss was pressed against his open mouth. The hand on his cheek went to grasp his nape and Altaïr's tongue delved in to tangle with his own. The kisses were languid and pleasantly wet. They shared the taste of honeyed mead between them. Their mouths moved in tandem with one another, interlocking in mutual desire. Between the kisses, they panted for breath only to dive back in for more. Harry's eyes fluttered closed and the assassin felt the eyelashes brush the skin of his face. His fingers clung tighter to the cloth covering Altaïr's broad, hard chest.

With a moist suck, Altaïr pulled away to plant kisses to his beloved's chin and the underside of his square jaw. "Come away with us, you and Teddy, to Masyaf. We need you; we love you both," he said. "Come away to the sun and warm stone of my home. Make it our home. Love you, want you there. We'll be a family and it will grow and be filled with joy. Oh my Harry, come with us."

"Yes! Yes, we'll go," Harry agreed with a gasp as the assassin nipped at his sensitive neck. "I hate Scotland anyway."

Altaïr's husky laugh made his chest vibrate beneath his lover's clenched fingers. They spent the rest of the night exchanging kisses and declarations of love.

000/000

**END**


End file.
